


heart somewhere in flight

by triplesalto



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Episode Tag, Episode Tag: The Day of The Doctor, F/M, First Time, M/M, Multi, Selfcest, Threesome - F/M/M, Timey-Wimey, whouffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 01:51:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11749623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplesalto/pseuds/triplesalto
Summary: Clara, Ten, and Eleven celebrate the survival of Gallifrey.





	heart somewhere in flight

**Author's Note:**

> All my thanks to my lovely anonymous beta. ♥

It’s over. They’ve saved Gallifrey – or at least, they _may_ have saved it. There’s no real way to know. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. 

Clara watches the way her Doctor walks, the way he holds his head, the curve of his smile, and she knows it’s enough for now. It’s enough to know that they might have saved it – that they tried, that the Doctors did not choose to burn their own people. If they failed, they failed while trying to save their planet, not destroying it. 

She watches her Doctor talk to his younger version, who he’s dubbed Sandshoes. The others have gone now. It’s only them, standing in a deserted gallery together, and Clara. 

The younger Doctor isn’t half bad-looking, she thinks, giving him the once-over. She remembers him, a little; her experiences from jumping into the timestream are all hazy now, like a half-forgotten dream. She prefers the one she knows the best, _her_ Doctor, but Sandshoes is rather attractive, if you go for the skinny charming drawling type. They look like brothers as they stand together; they could be teachers in her new school. One’s geeky and one’s cool, but that’s all just window-dressing in the end. 

_Brothers, or…_ Clara suppresses a snort. You’d almost think they were flirting, if you didn’t know any better. Now that would be timey-wimey indeed!

The younger Doctor says, “Good to know my future is in safe hands.” He’s smiling as he turns to her. “Keep a tight hold on it, Clara.”

“On it,” she says, half-laughing, as he takes her hand to press a gentlemanly farewell kiss to her fingers. 

And yet…

Later Clara will wonder if she took slight leave of her senses. Maybe it was the aftermath of the adrenalin rush of saving a whole planet, and not just any planet, but Gallifrey herself. Maybe it was all the timestreams criss-crossing in the air, creating some kind of forcefield. Maybe the barely-suppressed joy that sung in the Doctors’ eyes had jumped to her, making her reckless.

Whatever it is, she smiles up at the Doctor and says, “What, you’ll kiss a Zygon and not me?”

He blinks, and then amused delight dawns in his face. “I like _her_ ,” he tells her Doctor, over his shoulder. 

“ _Her_ name is Clara,” Clara informs him, and brings both hands up to his face, holding him still as she stands on her tiptoes for a kiss.

He kisses back. This Doctor knows what he’s doing. His mouth is warm; Time Lords feel the same as humans, she thinks distractedly, and then his tongue slides wickedly against hers and she forgets to think any more. 

“Urgh,” her Doctor says, behind them. “Kissing again. Why is there always kissing?”

Clara laughs, breaking the kiss. The Doctor’s hands ended up on her hips at some point, and he doesn’t remove them. She likes it. “Just because you don’t want to kiss me doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun,” she says, teasing.

“You don’t want to kiss her?” the Doctor asks. He sounds judgmental.

Her Doctor looks cross, although she can tell it’s mostly just for show. He seems much younger than he used to, somehow. He’s _playing_ , she realises, and grins at the thought.

“Not all of us kiss everything that moves,” he says, folding his arms. “Elizabeth the First. A _Zygon_ Elizabeth the First. And now my Clara. All in one day!”

“You might say that technically she’s my Clara at this exact moment,” the Doctor in her arms points out, and he’s playing too. There’s an air of giddiness in the room, and Clara feels all fizzy with it.

Her Doctor narrows his eyes.

“Jealous?” the Doctor asks him, and kisses her again, slow and deliberately. It’s a good kiss, and Clara sighs a little sigh of contentment, winding her fingers in his hair. She knows her Doctor doesn’t want her this way – he must have loved his wife, the mysterious River, but she’s never seen him show the least interest in anyone else – so it’s a bit nice to find out that _one_ of them does.

“Are you seriously trying to make _yourself_ jealous?” her Doctor complains, his voice sounding much nearer than he was before. “Because you know that makes you a little bit crazy.”

The Doctor breaks the kiss. “Aren’t we always?” 

Clara leans her head on his shoulder and watches her Doctor’s face. “You wouldn’t like it,” she says, consolingly. “It’s boring human-y stuff.” 

“I kiss people,” her Doctor says, all adorable belligerence. “Sometimes.”

“Well then, I won’t leave you out,” Clara says, and without giving herself time to think, steps out of one Doctor’s arms and up to the other, pulling his face down into a kiss. 

Behind her, the Doctor is chortling, but Clara ignores him. Her Doctor is much more tentative than his younger self, but she doesn’t mind, she can lead. She kisses him gently, tenderly, and strokes a finger along the shell of his ear, mimicking the slide of her tongue. Her other hand, caught between them, can feel his hearts racing; for all that he pretends disdain for this particular pursuit, he’s not unaffected. 

She draws back, nipping his bottom lip as she goes. “There,” she says, smiling up at him. “I’ve kissed you both. Both my Doctors.”

“Blimey,” her Doctor says after a moment, his hands waving distractedly.

“Good thing Granddad wasn’t still here,” the Doctor observes. “He really wouldn’t know what to say.”

Clara laughs, and then they’re all laughing.

“I can’t believe he thought we were the Doctor’s companions,” her Doctor says, disgruntledly, when the laughter peters out. 

“I suppose that makes me the Doctor,” Clara says, drawing herself up to her full height and giving them her best superior air. The effect is slightly ruined, though, when she adds, “Wait. Companions or _companions_?”

Her Doctor looks confused, but the younger one gets it. “I don’t think he suspected us of subjecting the TARDIS to a ménage à trois, no, but who knows? It wouldn’t be the first time she’s seen some… extended action.”

“Really?” Clara says, intrigued. 

Her Doctor, who’s been mumbling something under his breath about bunkbeds, hastily interjects. “You wouldn’t be interested in that. Clara isn’t interested.”

“Oh, but I am,” she says, poking him in the side. If he was seriously uncomfortable, she’d stop teasing, but she knows him, and he’s just a bit flushed. “You keep so many secrets, Doctor, but I had no idea some of them were sexy ones.”

“Ask him about Rose and Jack sometime,” the Doctor says, smirking.

Her Doctor’s hands go all flappy. “That was the one with the ears, you can’t go around telling my Clara about _his_ adventures, like - like it was _me_!”

“You’re all you, Doctor,” she says, and smiles at him, the special smile that’s just for him. 

Come to think of it – 

She turns to the younger Doctor. He’s obviously the one who answers questions. “What would happen if the two of _you_ kissed?”

Her Doctor promptly starts asphyxiating on his own tongue, if she’s interpreting the sounds he’s making correctly. The other one looks startled, but then grins, a Cheshire cat grin that lights up his eyes. “It’s never really come up. Not really a Doctor sort of thing.”

“Ah,” she says, returning his smile, then pats her Doctor on the arm. “You can stop choking now, Doctor, I’m not going to ask you to.” 

“I’m not a child,” he says, indignantly. The hackles are up on the back of his neck. “You don’t have to _reassure_ me, Clara.”

Clara holds up her hands in surrender. “It was a joke. I thought the idea was hot. But it’d probably blow the universe up anyway, and we just got done saving it, so no worries.” She turns to the other Doctor and holds out her hand. “You must have places to be, Doctor. Good luck.”

“You thought it was hot,” her Doctor mutters disbelievingly.

“Thanks,” the Doctor says, taking her hand. He doesn’t kiss it this time, just shakes it solemnly and grins at her. She can see the Doctorness in his eyes; they may have different faces, but the same essential character burns in both of them.

At her side, her Doctor huffs. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Clara half-turns, her hand falling from the Doctor’s. “What?”

Her Doctor steps past her, slides a hand around his younger self’s neck, and leans in for a kiss.

Clara can’t believe her eyes. This is happening. It’s actually happening.

Her Doctor is kissing Sandshoes, rather more aggressively than he had kissed her. Where he had been shy with her, he’s leaning into the kiss with Sandshoes, his hand on the back of his neck holding him still. They look strange together, and yet oddly right – it must be their timestreams colliding that is making Clara dizzy, her head whirling. It is incredibly hot, and her mouth is dry with sudden want. 

Sandshoes is rapidly getting with the picture. His arms go around her Doctor, one hand firmly pressed against his back and the other wandering downwards. 

“Hey!” her Doctor says, breaking the kiss. “I didn’t say you could grab my arse.”

“ _Our_ arse,” the Doctor says, with a wink – and suddenly both of them are dissolving into laughter.

Clara smiles along with them, even though she’s a little breathless. She’s only human, after all. Time Lords may be able to regulate their breathing better than she can, but she only has a human body and that kiss stole all of her breath away. 

“There,” her Doctor says, smoothing down the other Doctor’s lapels. “Happy, Clara?”

“We titillate you an appropriate amount?” the Doctor asks, comically over-enunciating. 

Clara pretends to consider. “Rather an inappropriate amount, I’d say.”

“Well, that’s good then,” the Doctor says, his lip trembling with amusement. “Mission accomplished.”

Her Doctor is blushing. The tips of his ears are red. But he hasn’t stepped away from his younger self. He still stands close, one of the Doctor’s hands resting on his hip.

“Right,” Clara says, trying to read the signals but giving up. This isn’t exactly a situation she has any experience with. “So, this is an offer I’m only gonna make once, and if either of you don’t like it we’ll forget all about it. But – if you two want to…”

“Are you propositioning _both_ of us?” The idea doesn’t seem to faze the younger Doctor. In fact he seems delighted. "I haven’t had something like this happen since, oh, Antony and Cleopatra. Lovely couple.”

“The Elizabeths probably would have obliged,” her Doctor says. He’s biting his lip, but he hasn’t run screaming yet, or had a stroke. 

Maybe Clara’s been underestimating him. He’s a thousand years old, or so he says, and he was married, after all. She remembers River and the way she smiled. Kissing may not be something her Doctor indulges in often, but maybe he’s not entirely uninterested.

“Yeeeeeees,” the Doctor says, making a face. “But Zygon. Venom sacs on the tongue. I don’t want to have to regenerate into you because my equipment got burned off. That would just be embarrassing.”

Clara steps up them, near enough to touch, enjoying the way all of their attention snaps to her. “ _I’m_ not a Zygon.”

“Excellent point,” the younger Doctor says.

Clara keeps her eyes on her Doctor. The other one, with his references to Antony and Cleopatra, Rose and Jack, he’d do it, she can tell. But her Doctor… She’s never thought it might actually happen. Oh, she’s wanked to thoughts of it before, brought herself off in the shower thinking of him smiling up at her from between her legs. But he’s never been interested in her – has he? 

“It’s really more Koschei’s style,” he says, which doesn’t ring any bells with Clara but makes the other Doctor laugh. 

Clara squashes her disappointment. They’ve already gone further than she expected, after all. “Then forget it.”

“Clara.” His eyes are soft, and there’s a quirk playing around the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t say no.”

She stops breathing for a second, and then steps forward and kisses him, both Doctors’ hands on her body and her heart somewhere in flight.

❧

The three of them end up in a bedroom in the younger Doctor’s TARDIS, because there’s been quite enough kissing in public for one day. Clara imagines Osgood finding them in each other’s arms, and suppresses a giggle.

“Pity I won’t remember this,” the Doctor says, as Clara unzips her skirt and shimmies it down her hips. “You are a sight to remember, Clara Oswald.”

Her Doctor will remember. Perhaps that should give her pause; the dynamic between them has become so easy and comfortable. Changing that now, creating a different future, is uncharted territory. They’ve been good friends – if she knows what he looks like naked, if he knows how she sounds when she comes, will that throw a spanner in the works?

Yet they’ve already moved too far to go back to where they were without awkwardness. If Clara’s going to have to deal with the fallout of this day, she’s going to make it count. 

“Give me one to match it,” she says, giving the younger Doctor a cheeky smile.

He strips efficiently and without ceremony, his long skinny body emerging from his suit, pale as a ghost. She supposes the Doctor doesn’t usually wear clothing that lends itself to a tan. His ribs show; in general she likes her men a little less pointy. But what’s between his legs is nothing to be self-conscious about. She looks, and lets him see her looking, and lets her smile turn wicked.

Then she turns to her Doctor, temporarily dismissing the other. This one has undone his bowtie, the ends hanging limp around his neck, but has gone no further. 

“Want some help?” Clara says, and rises on her toes to kiss him.

He’s more sure now than he was before. There’s confidence in his kiss, and he rests a hand on her back, holding her close. Their tongues dance together, and when she starts on his buttons, he hums into the kiss without breaking it.

Then Clara’s hands are unfastening his belt, and then she drops to her knees to help him step out of his trousers, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Already he’s lost his composure, his tongue darting out to his lips, his hair wild. She wonders suddenly if her Doctor masturbates. Has he wanked to this image of her kneeling in front of him? Has he imagined her mouth on his cock, and come with only the TARDIS to bear witness to his shout? It sends a thrill through her. As much as the Doctor has been her friend, this part of him has always seemed remote and alien, beyond her understanding – and yet here he stands, as defenceless and vulnerable under her hands as any human man. 

“Breathe, Doctor,” she says, and leans forward to press a kiss to the bulge in his pants.

It’s as much a reminder to herself as to him, but she hears the shudder of his exhale, and then his hand is gently stroking her hair. 

Clara smiles, half playful and half tender, and slides her fingers under the waistband of his pants, pulling downward in one swift movement. 

The regeneration process didn’t skimp for this Doctor either. He’s thicker than his younger self, solid and heavy, and Clara’s mouth waters. She yields to impulse and leans in, licking along the length of him, loving the way he jerks against her, his fingers tightening in her hair. It’s not very painful, but enough to bring tears starting into her eyes, heightening the unreality of this moment. 

“Clara,” her Doctor says, his voice unrecognisable, and she takes him into her mouth for a moment, sucking hard, before pulling off again and getting to her feet. She kisses him softly, letting him taste himself. This is happening, and she swallows his little gasp, her heart thrilling.

“I’m feeling very neglected over here,” the younger Doctor says, from the bed. 

“Shall we join him?” Clara asks, half-voiced, her lips brushing across skin.

Her Doctor’s eyes glitter. There’s something fey about him, something reckless, and he smiles suddenly, sliding an arm around her waist. “Why not?”

She shares the smile with him. “Come on, Doctor.”

“Geronimo,” he whispers, and kisses her, almost chastely.

Leaving him to finish shedding his shirt and pants, Clara goes to see to her other Doctor. He’s leaning against the pillows, unabashedly starkers, his face alight with interest. She straddles him, kisses him deep and fast.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he complains, when they break for breath.

“Impatient,” she chides, but she reaches back to unhook her bra. 

“Have you met us?” he questions, his eyes dancing. “Impatient is our middle name.”

“The Impatient Doctor,” Clara says, but breaks off the joke to gasp as one of her Doctor’s hands slips into her loosened bra, palming her breast, a thumb flicking across her nipple.

“Hello,” he says in her ear, his voice gone low.

She drops her head back onto his shoulder, her eyes closing involuntarily. “Fuck.”

“Yes,” he says, his thumb still stroking her. Clara’s stomach is doing flips.

“Welcome to the party,” the Doctor in the pillows tells his older self, irrepressible. 

The hand retreats from Clara’s bra, and she opens her eyes to see her Doctor dropping down onto his elbows and leaning in to kiss his counterpart.

 _Now that’s nice_ , she thinks, slipping her bra the rest of the way off and tossing it across the room onto a dark green velvet wingback chair. They look gorgeous in the sheets together, all long limbs and bony elbows and a rather competitive kiss. Clara could get used to this, even though she knows it’s only for this one time. One particularly interesting memory, if not one you could discuss in company. Not that any of her travels with the Doctor could be discussed in company.

She takes the opportunity of their distraction to stand up briefly and step out of her knickers, sending them to join her bra. Now they’re all naked, and now the real fun can begin. She grins. 

“Come back to bed,” her Doctor says, looking up. His eyes go slightly unfocused at the sight of her naked; the other Doctor makes a pleased noise.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she says. “Budge over.”

The bed is big enough for all of them, but there’s a lot of limbs to coordinate. Particularly when her Doctor seems to have eleven of them. She finds a comfortable position, stealing some of the pillows, and grins at both of them. “Hello, boys.”

Perhaps it should be awkward, but it isn’t anymore. They’ve saved Gallifrey, and now they’re in bed together, and Clara’s mind is beginning to whirl with the possibilities. 

“So what would you like, Clara Oswald?” her Doctor asks. He’s kneeling, sitting back on his feet in a surprisingly graceful pose. “Clara’s choice.”

For the first time, she feels like blushing. She’s not embarrassed, but being the target of both their scrutiny is a heady combination. One Doctor looking at her this way would turn her head; two makes desire curl inside her, taking her breath away.

“Maybe we should just see how it goes,” the younger Doctor says softly, rescuing her. She turns her head towards him and he kisses her, slowly but with purpose.

Then she gasps into the kiss, because her Doctor has pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her stomach. 

“Clara,” he says, and his hands are on her thighs, gently pushing at them. 

It’s almost more than she can manage, suddenly overwhelmed, but she lets her legs fall open, and breaks the kiss in time to see her Doctor smile up at her and lower his head between her thighs. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” she says. The younger Doctor is kissing her jaw, her neck, the spot behind her ear that has her arching upwards, helpless. 

Her Doctor is doing things with his tongue that she would never have expected he knew – except he’s a thousand years old, of course he knows – but oh, how can he be that silly, and playful, and wrinkle his nose at kissing, and still do _that_ \- and _oh_.

“I worked hard to get that good,” the Doctor murmurs in her ear, and she thinks about rolling her eyes, but pushes his head downwards instead. His mouth on her breast makes her shiver. Between the two of them she is rapidly falling, her desire spiralling upwards, inexorable. Has she ever been this close to coming this quickly? 

She wants to savour this, not rush through it. But then her Doctor slides a finger inside her, and she is gone. She shakes, and they hold her tight, one Doctor’s mouth working her through her orgasm, the other pressing kisses to her hair.

 _Well_ , Clara thinks, as she drifts back to herself. Maybe coming so quickly isn’t such a bad thing – taking the edge off might mean she lasts longer as they go along. Because she certainly intends to stretch this as long as possible.

“How does she taste?” the younger Doctor asks. 

Her Doctor just smiles. His mouth is wet, and although Clara’s libido is taking a moment to recharge, she appreciates the visual. “See for yourself.”

“Ngh,” Clara says, coherently, as the Doctor obliges. She didn’t wake up this morning expecting to see two Doctors lying between her legs, one kissing the inside of her thigh and the other thoughtfully _tasting_ her. The visual is incredible. 

She gathers herself. “Not my clit, it’s too sensitive right now.” 

“I can work with that,” the younger Doctor says, his eyes sparkling at her, the vibrations of his voice making her body think about just how soon it can swing into action again. 

“Come here, Doctor,” she tells her Doctor. “Come up here.”

He obeys, and she kisses him, tasting herself, then smiles at him. “Kneel up.”

“Clara,” he says, unevenly, when he realises what she means. 

“That’s my name.”

“ _Clara_ ,” he says, his voice rising an octave, but then she did just put his cock in her mouth, so it’s entirely understandable.

She can’t claim to be as experienced as he must be, but she knows what she’s doing. She relishes the way his eyes fall shut, as if overcome, only to immediately open again, as if he can’t bear not to see a moment. 

The other Doctor, meanwhile, has started fucking her with his tongue, messy and wet and oh so good. She arches her hips upwards, wordlessly demanding more. 

In what small space of her mind isn’t blissed white by the combined distractions of two Doctors in her bed, Clara spares a moment to wonder what the TARDIS must be thinking. She hopes she doesn’t mind. Since Trenzalore Clara has sensed a warmer feeling from the TARDIS – the ship even lets her snap her fingers to open and close the doors now. Maybe saving her beloved Doctor throughout time and space bought Clara some goodwill. Still, she’s not at all sure the TARDIS would approve of what she’s doing.

Well, she’ll just have to persuade the TARDIS that her Doctor is in good hands. Hopefully she won’t hide her bedroom again and doom Clara to sleep deprivation.

The Doctor between her legs has started to use his fingers. She brings her foot up to push down on the back of his head, and he laughs, his tongue flickering across her clit as his fingers do illegal things inside her. She’s not desperate again yet, the languor from her first orgasm still singing honey-sweet in her limbs, but what he’s doing feels amazing. She never wants it to stop.

The Doctor next to her is having some difficulty breathing regularly. She puts her hands on his arse and pulls him in closer. _Forget being gentlemanly, Doctor._ She wants to feel this; she wants to feel his cock bump the back of her throat, she wants to swallow him down and listen to him curse, the first profanity she’s ever heard from him, she wants it messy and overwhelming and fantastic. She wants everything.

When she can tell that he’s close, she pulls back and smiles up at him. “Want to fuck me?”

His eyes are huge, his mouth open. He looks dazed and blissful, overcome. _Clara_ did that, she thinks, and her smile widens into a grin.

“What about me?” the younger Doctor asks.

“I haven’t forgotten about you,” Clara says. “C’mere.”

He kisses her, and she feels his erection against her hip. No one’s even touched him yet, and he’s hard just from eating her out. Hot. She takes his cock in her hand, just to watch the way his shoulders tense, the way he sucks in a quick breath.

“If you two are up for it,” she says, looking up at her Doctor to include him, “one thing I’d really enjoy is…” She blushes, though she doesn’t mean to. Even after everything they’ve already done, coming right out and saying filthy things is a little daunting. But really, they’ve both had their mouths on her cunt, and she’s been busy sucking her Doctor’s brains out, she should be able to say anything. “Well. One of you fucking me and the other one fucking him.”

“Kinky,” the younger Doctor says, approvingly. 

Clara wouldn’t have been surprised if her Doctor had demurred, but instead he’s looking thoughtful. “Remember the time with –”

“Oi,” she says, slapping his arm. “Don’t make me jealous.”

He looks surprised, but then smiles. “But you’re here, not them.”

“And it’s never been the two of _us_ ,” the other Doctor murmurs in her ear.

If Clara wasn’t already turned on, she would be now. 

They’re all turned on, and it takes a surprisingly short amount of time before one Doctor is poised between her legs, the other kneeling behind him. Either Time Lords don’t need much prep, or this one is uncommonly eager, because he only let Clara and his older self work in a finger each before he was telling them to get on with it already. (But then, he _did_ say that Impatient was their middle name.)

“Ready?” he asks now, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Ready,” she says, and gasps as he enters her.

Between her earlier orgasm and his subsequent tongue and finger work, she is drenched and oh, oh so ready for this. Her body welcomes him in, a key fitting into a lock, hand in glove. “Oh, right _there_ ,” she says, as his cock hits the perfect angle.

Her desire is building again, fizzing in her veins. She wonders how good Time Lord stamina is. Can they stretch this out, or will it be over just as quickly? 

He bottoms out, and she runs her hands over his arms, cherishing the moment. 

“Okay,” he says, but it’s not to her, it’s to her Doctor.

She feels it when her Doctor pushes inside his younger self. The forward motion pushes the Doctor further into her, if that’s possible, and his body tenses, then slowly relaxes. The look on his face is beyond description. Bliss, is about the closest she can come; blank consuming pleasure, in every line of his face. 

Her Doctor meets her eyes over his shoulder, and she smiles at him, at the both of them. “Come on,” she says, softly. “Fuck us.”

He does.

Clara begins to lose the sense of where she begins and where she ends. She is pleasure. She is the Doctor kissing her, exhausted press of mouths and feverish heated kisses and pain-desire bite under her ear. She is so full, stretched and complete and perfect. She is hot, burning-hot, and the pulse of her desire beats in her ears, roaring loud enough to deafen.

Time and space are whirling around them, and she is spinning, twisting, dancing, every moment a lifetime and every lifetime a moment. Time stretches and contracts, as tangible as the air in her lungs, as beautiful as the looks on the Doctors’ faces.

The Doctor is shuddering against her, his breath harsh, his heartbeats racing. She holds him, and whispers sweet dirty nothings in his ear, and tells them both to go harder.

The Doctor is bending his younger self over her, pressing them together and setting a punishing pace, rocking them into each other with each thrust, tangling his fingers together with Clara’s and leaning around himself to kiss her as they all come apart.

Clara keeps her eyes open as she falls, until stars roar over her.

❧

Later, much later, when they’ve put clothes on again, kissed the younger Doctor goodbye, and gone back to their own TARDIS, Clara leans her chin on her hand and looks up at her Doctor.

She has travelled with him through time and space, had adventures beyond measure. He has become her closest friend, someone she would kill, or die, to protect. And now they have stepped over a line together – leaped over it, reckless, heedless, imprudent. (At least the TARDIS let her in. Clara was more than a little worried about that, once the endorphins wore off.)

“So,” Clara says, raising an eyebrow and keeping her face straight. “You’re a pretty good kisser.”

He smiles. “Well, thank you.”

“Was that a one-time thing? Hurrah for Gallifrey?”

He turns, busies himself at the controls. The TARDIS hums at him. “Do you want it to be?”

Clara doesn’t think she’s ready for another round right now, and he probably isn’t either – although the younger Doctor whispered something intriguing in her ear before they left about non-existent Gallifreyan refractory periods, and she’s filed it away for future reference – but she knows she wants to in future. 

She wants this. She wants him. She wants them, running through the universe together, him in her arms and between her legs and in her bed. _Look at you,_ she chides herself. _Falling in love with an immortal alien from outer space. You idiot._

But it’s done now, and she wouldn’t change it. Not one moment, not one iota.

“I want you,” Clara says, simply. “For as long as you’ll have me. But if it was just a one-time thing for you, I understand.”

She’d understand. She doesn’t know if she could accept it. Could she still travel with him, if this was only one memory, if he never kisses her again, never closes his eyes in ecstasy that she caused? Could she laugh with him, live with him, run with him, if they will always be just friends?

Yes, she decides. She could. She’s not the type to pine her heart away for a doomed romance. Before he was her lover, he was her friend; she thinks she could go back. He has given her the stars and, for however short a time, himself. He is her best friend. That is enough.

He turns back to her. There is something alien in his eyes, something ancient; but then it slips away, and he is just her Doctor again. “Oh, Clara,” he says, softly. 

“Don’t worry,” she says, forcing a smile. “You’re my best mate. If you don’t want – that won’t change.”

He comes to her, takes her hands in his. “I can’t promise you forever,” he says. “I’m not… it doesn’t work like that for me.” He swallows, looks away; she, remembering the wife he lost, reaches a hand up to touch his cheek. “But if you want me, I can give you my now.”

Who knows what tomorrow may bring? Clara threw herself into the Doctor’s time stream, sacrificing herself to save him, and she would do it again tomorrow.

“Now is all I want,” she says.

His eyes are soft, his smile bright. He is hers, and she is his; the Doctor and his Impossible Girl, with all of Time and Space to come.

Clara pulls him down into a kiss, and he comes readily, opening his mouth against hers, his arms holding her close, cherished and safe.

Outside the time vortex is spinning around them. There are worlds to see, planets to save. Whatever the future brings, Clara will face it with her head held high. 

She smiles into the kiss, and tangles her fingers in his hair.

❧

**Author's Note:**

> After a recent rewatch of "The Day of the Doctor", the possibility for this pairing simply _leaped_ out at me, and I couldn't believe that there were no fics. This had to be rectified. ;) And it was so much fun to write! I hope you enjoyed it. ♥


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